A friend of mine used to bemoan the loss of the “playground rules” he grew up with, most notably the rule that if you were fairly caught cheating or lying, you owned up to it and didn’t waste everybody’s time with flimsy denials.

The older I get, the more I suspect those rules might have been unique to his playground alone.

Today I find myself vaguely amused at the disparity in how my Tuesday entry (which I got a variety of positive feedback regarding) was received when compared to my Wednesday entry (which went without any responses whatsoever). I wasn’t surprised by this though. Tuesday’s entry was deliberately positive and pithy, but I knew there was a point that could be easily overlooked, hence Wednesday’s entry.

To spell it out, to me the important part of Tuesday’s entry was “what you believe about yourself, true or not, will have the greatest effect on you.” I’ve known wonderful people who had been convinced they were terrible people, and I’ve also known people who, if they had even an ounce of talent, they kept it hidden extremely well, but their belief in their own non-evident greatness could sustain them through anything. It’s just . . . impressive how much belief can affect a person.

But knowing the truth about yourself will serve you better in the long run, and the fact of the matter is that sometimes the truth stinks, but it’s better to be able to smell it because otherwise you won’t know you need to change.

When seeking truth, it’s vital to keep in mind that truth oftentimes sounds ridiculous until examined more closely, but all but the most blatant of falsehoods tend to be carefully crafted to sound ever so plausible . . .

It’s been an unusually quiet day around here today (I’m writing this early Sunday evening to free up my schedule for tomorrow), and I find myself feeling pensive over how often we tend to lie, particularly when we’re younger, and even more particularly about sex. Everybody seems to have a “first time” story, and if there’s one common thread, especially among males in this culture, it’s that it was always “Great!” . . . provided, of course, that the audience is large enough to require such a sentiment.

Not to imply that many people’s first times aren’t, in fact, great, but over the years I started to notice just how differently the story could be told if the telling was private enough. For the record, my own first time was significantly less than great. She was more “experienced” than I was, but those experiences hadn’t been very positive ones, so we both ended up muddling through things more out of some mutual sense of obligation than any actual desire. Yes, things got better with practice . . . a lot better, but that first time?

Last night I was sent out for a quick provisions run, and L’s Mother once again found an empty dessert pie box in among the grocery bags. And once again, I expressed my “mystification” about how I keep ending up with those empty boxes whenever I end up going out for a grocery run that I don’t particularly feel like doing.

“Well,” she said after a moment. “I hope nobody’s charging you for any empty boxes.”